


Adult Conversations (And Underground Dinner)

by highlyrelevantnumber (Leonora_Acker)



Series: HL x POI x BoL One-shots [2]
Category: Body of Lies (2008), Homeland, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonora_Acker/pseuds/highlyrelevantnumber
Summary: It was both strange and nice. Like he could get used to it. It'd been a while since he last got a taste of home.Direct follow-up toUh... okay. I do recommend reading that work first.
Relationships: Aisha (Body of Lies)/Roger Ferris, Carrie Mathison/Peter Quinn, Fara Sherazi/Max (Homeland)
Series: HL x POI x BoL One-shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669003
Comments: 12
Kudos: 6





	Adult Conversations (And Underground Dinner)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. So, this week I have both good news and bad news. The good news is university is closed as a measure to stop Corona Virus from spreading and, as a result, I have more time to write. What's the bad news? CORONA VIRUS!!!
> 
> 2\. Sorry for the slight delay. This got longer than I had originally planned. Not that I hear anyone complaining about the length...
> 
> 3\. AZ-5 (elim_garak) thank you for your present as well as your support. You are a blessing for me to have as a reader and fellow author.
> 
> ... and now... Enjoy!

Root let her keys drop into the small wooden bowl on the table in the tiny foyer. Inside the living room, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Astrid trying to sit up on the couch and massaging her temples. Roger Ferris was standing in the doorway leading to the living room, fuming. Root reached for the hanger but stopped upon remembering she was only wearing her leather jacket and Quinn... well, he'd left in such a hurry that he hadn't put anything on. She didn't turn to look but she knew he was trailing behind her like a sad puppy expecting to be scolded by its master– or, in this case, Roger Ferris in full angry leader mode.

"Why did you drug Astrid?" he demanded to know, his tone imperative. Root shoved past him, into the room, ready to be annoyed, when she realized a question about drugging someone was for once not directed at her. Being a reformed assassin could still throw her off balance sometimes.

Quinn didn't answer. He slowly entered the room and crumpled into an armchair. Astrid was still sitting on the couch across from Quinn while Roger stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest, silently but intensely staring at the former sniper. Root leaned against the doorway. Although she could leave and sure enough no one would notice her absence, the Machine was warning her the conversation had a high chance of going off the rails and things were about to become nasty.

"It was the only way," Quinn said after an uncomfortably long stretch of silence, "You would never have let me go otherwise."

"We damn sure wouldn't," Roger agreed calmly, "And we won't if we think freeing you is going to end up with a bullet going through your head."

"Maybe you should have left me die in the first place." It was said in a resigned, low tone, like he'd lost hope, like he secretly wished he was dead.

"What!?"

"Peter, why are you saying things like that?"

"It's true." There was bitterness to his voice and Root could feel the angry pulse rising. She braced herself for the outburst. "Why did you save me if not out of guilt, huh? I'm a cripple, my brain has sh-short- short-circuited and I can't do my job. Why bother saving me and taking care of me unless you all have sins to atone for?"

"Because we're your friends, goddamn it!" Ferris shouted, turning around abruptly to face the former black ops agent, as if he wanted to kick something– or someone, Root decided. "And don't you say that in front of Carrie," he added in a softer albeit strict voice.

"It's okay, Roger."

Root turned her head in the same moment as the others to see Carrie standing at the front door, holding a bag of fruit and a bowl of soup, visibly on the verge of tears. "The door was slightly ajar," she explained, struggling to keep the tears from falling, "I heard everything."

Then, before Quinn or anyone else had a chance to react, she ran back out.

Half an hour later, Quinn was sitting in the same armchair, looking regretful and desperate, head cradled between his hands. How had he messed up this badly? Carrie had run to her car and driven off, no doubt hurt by his words. Astrid and Roger had gone to find her and hadn't returned yet, despite darkness beginning to fall outside. Root was here with him, although not in the living room, probably in another room talking to the Machine or trying to track Carrie down electronically or even outside checking for signs of the missing team member. How could he have been so blind, really? Apparently, everyone cared for Carrie. And everyone cared for him. Also _apparently_.

Root came to sit down on the couch previously occupied by Astrid, across from him. "Max found her. She took great care to avoid all cameras, but he'd put a tracker on her jacket– all her jackets, I'd be willing to bet– and was able to trace her whereabouts. He texted the coordinates to Astrid and Roger and they're now headed there. Quinn nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement. "What is it with CIA guys and their habit of putting trackers on other people?"

Quinn didn't open his mouth to reply until it was a moment too late. Root chuckled to herself and he realized the question was probably directed to the Machine. He lifted his eyes to look up at her. "I messed up, didn't I?"

"In a rather spectacular fashion, may I add." After a few moments, she continued: "But a little bird tells me you thinking we are only taking care of you because we feel guilty wasn't an idea that lovely brain of yours came up with."

"Dar Adal said I was a burden."

"And you believe anything that Dar Adal tells you?"

They let a comforting silence hang in the air, until Quinn decided to open up. "It was the night you were running late. He came here to see me. And to talk to me. He was gone before you arrived."

"Of course," Root agreed, "If I'd found him here, he wouldn't have left the cabin in an upright position." Quinn turned to stare at her gloomily and they both laughed at her violently inappropriate joke.

A few minutes later, a car parked outside and Quinn mustered all the courage he could manage to face Carrie. "Good luck," said Root as he drew in a deep breath.

"Thank you." He'd need it.

After Carrie had gotten inside and walked into the living room, Astrid had discretely tried to communicate to Root and Ferris that granting the recently reunited couple some privacy was the polite thing to do. For some reason, though, they insisted on lingering. It required a great deal of effort, but eventually she managed to drag them outside, in the cold night air– only for them to get glued in front of the window. One of the two lovebirds had switched on the light and they were both standing before the window now, a pair of dark figures hidden behind the curtain.

When the figures kissed and I love you's could be faintly heard being exchanged, Root was practically glowing while Roger was... openly scowling. Astrid hoped their reactions didn't mean what she thought they meant.

"You owe me a hundred dollars," Root said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Damn, Root, I don't get paid for that!" he complained.

Root's smug smile only widened in response. "You get paid enough."

"You're a cheat!" Roger didn't bother to hold back the accusation, "You can ask the Machine, who can calculate probabilities. I don't know why I keep betting on romantic stuff with you!"

Astrid cast them a look of contempt. "You two are terrible people! I'm ashamed of you." Then, she stormed away from them and into the small house, leaving the hacker and case officer wondering what unforgivable crime they'd committed. Out of all things, they'd never expected Astrid to be a romantic.

Apparently, the Machine thought love confessions tended to make people hungry because she had a suggestion: why didn't Root text Shaw to get Indian and Greek takeout and then the entire team head to the subway to hang out and eat there? It was still a little risky taking Quinn to New York, but the subway was in an area without cameras. Plus, Root still had the shadow map and, if she didn't, the Machine could send it to her. There was no Samaritan watching anymore, of course, only Dar Adal and the CIA and “The Machine could have them for breakfast”, as Root put it. So, as long as Quinn stayed in the camera dead zone and kept a low profile, he should remain safe. There was no reason for them to assume Dar Adal had assigned human agents to watch Quinn and the chances of the Machine having missed Dar Adal doing so were lower than Astrid spontaneously kissing Ferris. Both the German spy woman and Arabic-speaking case officer cringed a little at that.

Upon descending the stairs to the subway, John Reese discovered Root's pet nerd couple– as Shaw called them– were yet to leave, still staring at their computer screens instead.

"Hey, Fara, Max," he greeted, "everything okay?"

At the sound of his voice, Fara instantly tore her eyes away from the computer and lifted her head to smile broadly at him. She was unlike any other woman on the team, combining a bright mind and exceptional skills with kindness and compassion. Reese thought having her on the team was beneficial for everyone, she was very easy to work with and possessed a strong sense of ethics.

"Yes, everything is okay," she replied, "We were just about to head out. Did you need something?"

"No, you can go if you'd like, but you can also stay here and eat dinner with the rest of us."

"Of course, we'd be delighted! Without a reservation, I doubt we'd be able to find a table at a restaurant, anyway."

"It's a deal, then," Reese said, not quite able to keep a small smile from creeping on his lips.

"So much for our romantic night out!" Max groaned. It had taken a while for him to finally agree to a date with Fara, but after the first time he was always looking forward to the next one.

"You know, Max," Reese said, his smile turning a bit nasty, "working on your social skills a little couldn't hurt."

"Says the stoic, grim-faced former CIA black ops operative and current evil-fighting vigilante. Also known as the Man in the Suit." Max's retort was immediate and meant to sting. It earned him an intense glare from Reese, an intimidating grin slowly pulling at the corners of his lips. Fara elbowed Max hard on the side to shut him up.

It was no secret Reese didn't like the fact Max had been given administrative access by the Machine. Also, Max really pushed his luck at times. Maybe it was because he had figured out Reese, despite all the intimidation, wasn't going to kill him or maybe it was because Max knew where Root had stashed her taser collection in the subway– Reese didn't know for sure. He glared once more at Max and went to set up tables and chairs on the platform. Max took the initiative to help.

First, Reese moved all the tables close to each other so that they formed one large surface. Meanwhile, Max went to fetch the chairs, asking Reese how many people were coming and counting to make sure there were enough seats for everyone. Then, Reese handed him cleansing wipes, instructing him to wash every surface with them. During the process, Max bumped into Reese multiple times, resulting in Reese shooting him more glares than the US had shot missiles in the Middle East. When they finished, both men took a few steps back and stood side by side to admire their handiwork. They smiled at each other, pleased with the outcome. Reese patted Max on the shoulder, much to the latter's annoyance.

A few seconds later, the sound of heeled boots clicking against the cement of the stairs could be heard and soon Root and Shaw, who was holding large bags of takeout after a successful hunt for food, came into view. They were followed by a small army of Machine assets, which included Peter Quinn. "We have visitors!" Root yelled cheerfully.

Franny and Yasmine were the Machine's special guests, alongside Quinn. Yasmine was Roger's daughter with his Iranian-Jordanian wife, Aisha. She was younger than Franny but equally smart and even naughtier. Franny was excited beyond words to be meeting with Quinn again and had brought her newest bunny toy to introduce to him as well as a book that she insisted was Quinn's favorite. However, everything else was forgotten as the girls spotted Bear in his bed wagging his tail and letting out soft barks, inviting them to play with him. Although the whole team loved the kids very much, Bear was particularly fond of them.

Yasmine quickly ran down the stairs to hug Bear by the neck. Franny was slowed down by the amount of things she was holding in her small arms– she even refused Carrie's help when she offered. She wanted to show the stuffed animal to Bear so that they could make friends. Carrie didn't insist. Quinn thought his heart might burst because of how it swelled with love for the young girl. Franny crouched down in front of Bear, leaving her book next to her on the floor, and went to pet him with one hand while holding the stuffed rabbit close to his nose with the other. Bear sniffed it with his wet nose, then barked.

"He will eat your rabbit," Yasmine warned her friend matter-of-factly while scratching Bear's ears, "Big dogs like to eat cute, tiny rabbits."

Franny looked between Yasmine and Bear, her expression a mix of fear and sadness. Before she believed Yasmine's words and started weeping, Reese intervened.

"No," he said, "Bear is a big dog with a good, big heart. He doesn't eat anyone."

"Yeah, just like you, partner," Fusco commented as he approached to join the others at the table. Dani Silva, who was walking a few steps behind her fellow detective, had a smile that screamed she was trying very hard not to laugh. A growl formed in the back of Reese's throat. Fusco might as well have written history with this line and Reese sincerely hoped Shaw had heard nothing because otherwise he would get teased to eternity.

As they started to eat, Reese said to Max: "You don't like your food, Max? You're less talkative than usual." There was no malice to his words– but no concern either– and Max knew when his friends were trying to get a reaction out of him because he had suddenly fallen quiet.

"It's called selective mutism," Max replied. Reese grinned and Max grinned back, as if their exchange had been super clever. Ferris' eyebrows both shot up but he continued to eat, no doubt having heard the joke multiple times and only wondering why it kept playing over and over every time they were relaxing in the subway, like a broken cassette.

Quinn laughed. He vaguely remembered calling Max by some derogatory, mildly offensive nickname. "Ah, I don't get it," he admitted.

"Lame inside joke we tell around down here," Shaw explained without interest, waving a chunk of her food into the air before plopping it in her mouth.

Later on, during dinner, Root was stealing food from Shaw, who was seated on her left. Eventually, Shaw got tired of the hacker's antics and changed seat. Root didn't appear even slightly discouraged by this since she just started stealing food from Roger, who was sitting on her right, instead. He glared at her but otherwise refused to pay attention. Fara, who was sitting opposite them with Max next to her, held her own container in front of Root.

"Here, we can share mine." Apparently, in her universe, stealing food wasn't an activity people engaged in for fun– they were either hungry or didn't like their food. For the briefest second, confusion flickered across Root's features but she quickly recovered.

"Well done, Fara," Roger praised the former CIA analyst, "That was a low blow."

"Low blow? What do you mean? I just wanted to share my food with Root. She's clearly unhappy with her own."

Sometimes, Roger mused, Fara could be as innocent and ignorant as the Machine got at certain times in regards to specific issues. No wonder the Machine had chosen Fara as her Limited Access Analogue Interface.

After they had finished having dinner, Carrie and Ferris were having a conversation in Arabic, just to refresh the language in their memory. Root was listening to them talking with her head tilted to one side, like she often did when the Machine was communicating with her, and she seemed to understand every single one of their words. _Of course she does_ , Roger mentally slapped himself. He unlocked his phone and discretely– so that Root didn't notice– typed a message for the Machine.

_Lock Root out of the Automatic Translator._

_First of all, Relevant Asset Roger Ferris, I do not believe I have such a function as Automatic Translator. Secondly, for me to deny access to my Analogue Interface you would have to be Admin. Even then, I am not sure I would have obeyed you._

_No thanks._

_Based on my observation of human speech patterns, I would say you are displeased with my answer because you deem it unsatisfactory. Would you like to clarify your request?_

Ferris simply switched off his phone and put it away. After exchanging a meaningful glance with Carrie, they stopped talking altogether. Root didn't seem to care much about the company, she was far more fascinated by the Machine translating directly into her ear and exclusively for her. She was also making remarks on the conversation such as the etymology of a word, grammatical rules that She thought Root would be interested to know about or particularly complex syntax structures. This didn't mean Root enjoyed seizing the opportunity to get on her friends' nerves any less than she did having the Machine chirping away in her earpiece. She went to sit with the Iranian women. Fara and Aisha didn't seem to mind, but Shaw clearly wasn't of the same opinion.

"Tonight is not the night I'm teaching you Farsi," Shaw told her gently. Root noticed she didn't say no about another time. She couldn't help a soft smile appearing on her lips.

"Do you remember it?" she asked Shaw with genuine interest.

Shaw tried to shoo her away with her next words but the ghost of a smile playing on her lips betrayed her. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. None of your goddamn business." Root's instant thought was: _Another night, then_. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine. She did her best so that Shaw wouldn't take notice, although she was pretty sure she had already failed.

"Why would you want to learn Farsi, Root?" Carrie cut in, "What use could you possibly have for it? Considering you could never pass as an Iranian woman..."

"I need to perfect my Iranian accent," Root replied, ignoring the underlying meaning of Carrie's words, "For missions."

Roger was the first to burst out laughing and Carrie followed suit. "You could _never_ pass as an Iranian," Roger said with absolute certainty.

"You want us to bet on that?" Root asked, instead of responding with a comeback.

"Actually, not," Ferris replied, "The last time we had a bet, I ended up being broke. And I seem to recall you robbing me just a few hours ago."

"You CIA guys are pretty dense. I mean, how could you not see Max was practically waiting for Fara to propose a date to him?" Fusco had been the only one besides Root to win the bet of whether or not Max would start dating Fara.

Silva choked on her soft drink. "CIA?" she asked in shock. Aisha mercifully handed her a bunch of paper napkins.

Meanwhile, Quinn was reading the bunny fairytale Franny had brought with her to both little girls. Franny had climbed on his lap while Yasmine was sitting cross-legged on the floor before Quinn's chair, eyes wide with expectation. It was both strange and nice. Like he could get used to it. It'd been a while since he last got a taste of home.

Before everyone left to return to their living spaces, Fara insisted that they take a photograph. While they were posing, Root sneakily hooked an arm around Shaw's shoulder. Bright, white light flashed from Fusco's phone camera, momentarily blinding all of them. They immediately scattered afterwards, like frightened mice, leaving the detective to marvel at the picture he had taken. Shaw removed Root's arm, barking: "Are you crazy!?".

As the guests were beginning to leave, Quinn found the perfect chance to slip into the train car unnoticed. He stood in front of the monitor and the red light at the bottom of the black screen blinked a few times by way of greeting. He turned his gaze towards the platform where Roger was examining Root's taser or she was showing it off to him.

Ferris was speaking in fluent Arabic, telling her that her weapon was wonderful and it matched her personality but he hoped that she wouldn't be coming back to his apartment that night. To Ferris' complete and utter surprise, Root answered in fairly decent Arabic.

"You're handsome," she said, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger, "and I rather like American CIA agents with a beard." Her expression changed to deadly serious. "But your fate depends on the will of God."

It sent a chill up Quinn's spine. "Do you really want Root to fry Roger with her taser?" he asked the Machine, turning back to the monitor. The dark screen lit up, white letters on a black background.

_No, I do not wish for my Analogue Interface to cause any harm to Relevant Asset Roger Ferris and I am confident she does not wish it herself. Their interactions resemble more the type of behavior humans define as 'teasing'. Although 'fry' is a very inaccurate technical term to describe how a taser device functions._

"Do you even have a sense of humor?"

_According to my Analogue Interface, I do. And it has gotten more interesting since I've started to interact with Relevant Assets._

A pause and then:

_Is there anything I can help you with, Relevant Asset Peter Quinn?_

"As a matter of fact, yes." And without wasting another moment, he asked: "Why did you save me?"

_It's what I was programmed to do, saving lives. It is my purpose and main objective to help people. My Father went to great lengths to ensure I would adhere to a strict moral code, that I would care about humanity._

"You are doing exceptionally well."

_Thank you. I'm just sorry that I couldn't accurately predict the events and dispatch assets to your location earlier._

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault information can be manipulated and you're a computer."

_An Artificial Intelligence, actually. And, to fully answer your question, Relevant Asset Peter Quinn:_

The screen went blank, then filled with text again.

_I could not leave you die not only because it would go against my programming but also, most importantly, because the cost to my other Assets would have been too great. Especially in Relevant Asset Carrie Mathison's case._

Quinn turned his head to look at Carrie, who was with Franny. She smiled at him, instructing Franny to wave in his direction. Quinn reciprocated with a smile and a wave of his own. He turned his attention back to the Machine.

_I hope that answers your question._

"It does. Thank you."

The red light on the monitor blinked twice.

_You're welcome. Have a good night's rest._

"What were you talking with the Machine about?" Carrie asked with curiosity, once he neared her and Franny.

"She was, uh, helping me sort things out," Quinn replied.

"So, it takes talking to an Artificial Intelligence for you to come to your senses?" she joked.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Where are you sleeping tonight?"

"At Reese's place. Camera dead zone."

"I sincerely hope you don't huddle for warmth," she joked again.

He laughed. "I hope so too."

"Goodnight, then. I'll see you in the morning," she said, before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Carrie," he responded, smiling.

Carrie took her daughter's hand in hers. "Say goodnight to Quinn."

"Goodnight, Peter!"

"Goodnight, Franny. Pleasant bunny dreams."

"Yes! Lots of bunnies!"

Quinn watched them walk towards the staircase.

"Ready to go?" Reese asked, pausing to a halt beside him.

Quinn looked around the empty subway. "Yeah, let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Me, butchering this line again (from Body of Lies: The Novel):  
> He rattled off a few sentences in fluent Arabic, telling her that she was very beautiful in the moonlight and that he hoped she would come back to his apartment that night. To his surprise, she answered in decent Arabic. She told him that he was handsome, but that his fate depended on the will of God.
> 
> 2\. I'll aim for sooner than next Friday but no promises... The next installment is entitled _America First... or whatever_ and is– of course– an alternate version of the events of HL 6.12.
> 
> 3\. Lastly, I would love to hear your thoughts on this story. Drop me a line in the comments if you'd like. Have a nice week and I'll see you all... next time.


End file.
